


It Finds A Way

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bad Touch, Banter, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy, Creepy Fluff, Daddy Issues, Family History, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, House Bolton Is It's Own Trigger Warning, M/M, Misogyny, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Sassy, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Crush, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domeric thinks briefly on how Mychel Redfort compares to his new brother. Ramsay can't sleep without Heke next to him and wants to hear some history. No one has appropriate boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Finds A Way

**Author's Note:**

> [We now have an illustration from Thrumgnyr.](http://thrumugnyr.tumblr.com/post/80565862306/domeric-and-ramsay-inspired-by-the-fic-it-finds)

Mychel had been a brother to him. He had acted like a younger brother ought to. He had an easy smile and a boy's dreams. Domeric remembered watching him pen letters to Mya Stone, a bastard girl who had supposedly stolen his heart.

He had urged Mychel against seeing her. His father would not approve of him cavorting about with some low born girl. Mychel had sat on the edge of Domeric's bed, his weight shifting the mattress.

The boy had Lord Redfort's soft eyes, so unlike Domeric, so unlike Domeric's Father. He had the gentle cast of a romantic figure, a young Florian. Though Domeric had taken better to histories, Mychel had a great love for songs. There were no singers in the Dreadfort, and certainly no fools. His Father wasn't one for tales.

Domeric had rested his hand on Mychel's shoulder, only to have it brushed softly aside with a laugh.

"You Northern folk have no care for love. Has the South not thawed your icy heart?" Mychel had japed.

"I am concerned for your heart, not mine," Domeric had sniped back. Mychel had meant in good spirits, he was kindhearted, but Domeric knew his reputation. He was quiet and skilled with a blade, with a face not unlike his Father's. He knew his Father's reputation as well.

It was good to be feared; it was good to be respected, but from Mychel it felt strangely injurious. Lord Bolton would have been disappointed in this  display of sentiment.

"Love finds a way, Domeric."

Mychel had sneaked out that night, leaving Domeric with his books and his bedside.

He did not have Mychel now, but he had his books and he had his brother. He had fought his Father for each of them. Lord Bolton burnt the books he saw as unfit to keep, and Ramsay, he knew his Father's thoughts on Ramsay.

Domeric recognized him as his brother on first sight. Ramsay was wider built and more common featured, but he had the same hard icy eyes Domeric and his Father shared. Domeric had felt a sense of pride on seeing him, and a strange satisfaction in the knowledge he would be the one to shape him, not their Father.

Ramsay had come into his room this night, lamenting and cursing his attempts at sleep.

"You should let me share a bed with you tonight. I always had my Reek before this," Ramsay insisted, pouting and cross armed as Domeric redressed. Their Father had insisted Heke, Lord Bolton only ever called him by his proper name, slept with the dogs as his stench was too foul for the other servants to stomach.

Ramsay slunk to his brother's side, eyes downcast before a slight smile passed to him. Domeric looked back to him as his fingers worked the laces of his sleep shirt. He did not smile back, though he certainly wished to. He enjoyed his lessons with his new brother, and the long hours spent riding together. Ramsay had not taken to it at first, but in time he had come around to it, especially with the promise of a hunt. He had strong long legs and was well suited to it in build.

Ramsay was dressed for sleep already, wearing night clothes Domeric had given him. They fit him poorly and left to his own devices Ramsay tended to sleep undressed.

Ramsay leaned against Domeric's chest, resting his head in the crook of his elder brother's neck. His grey eyes flicked up to Domeric's, his left hand draped over his brother's shoulder.

"I recited all my lessons well enough, didn't I? You can tell me about the Rebellion again," Ramsay hummed, his thick lips and hot breath brushing against Domeric's bare skin. Ramsay had listened to the story enthusiastically earlier today, full of questions about how many Stark men died and if they were flayed alive or dead. Domeric had answered his questions extensively, while running a hand through Ramsay's thick dark hair. He tended to get a bit over stimulated by such stories, his bastard's blood more prone to running bad, but Domeric's touch and a low even tone did wonders for his behavior. Domeric allowed himself to smile this time, if only briefly.

"Try not to take all the furs this time, and I'll allow it," decided Domeric. 

"You'll just have to sleep close to me then... brother...."

Ramsay's grin widened and he uncurled from Domeric's chest, immediately worming his way into his elder brother's bed.

Domeric sighed and shook his head as he joined him. Ramsay was mercurial by nature, spewing resentful words and foul glances one day then begging to be taught and fawned over the next. It'd be best to leech him in the morning.  Domeric settled next to Ramsay, blowing out the candle by his bedside, before putting a long arm around his waist. 

"Let me get comfortable before you start," Ramsay whined, shifting his placement. His shoulder blades and elbow poked into Domeric's chest, and the back of his knees poked into the front of Domeric's before he stilled, aligning their hips then pulling the furs and sheets over the both of them.

Domeric sensed Ramsay was becoming over excited again, his brother still wriggling despite the close proximity of their bodies. When Ramsay's motions become a low dip, slowy rubbing into the curve of his lap, Domeric placed a slender hand in Ramsay's hair again.

"That's enough. You want to hear about the battle for Winterfell, do you not?" Domeric reminded him, making gradual circles around the back oh his head before yanking at his hair slightly.

"Terribly," Ramsay purred, finally resting. His hair had grown shaggy since the last time Domeric had ordered it cut and it was thick and soft in his fingers, smelling slightly of cloves.

Domeric exhaled once before starting.

"Lord Daewin Bolton led a force of four thousand men, alongside his brothers Garret the Gray and Castus Bolton. Daewin was the eldest and rode a steed from the Rills, endowed to him for his marriage to Alanna Ryswell," Domeric cited. Ramsay's breath slacked and he could feel his brother's muscles relaxing in his arms. There was a great peace in these moments alone, free from his mother and father's insinuations, and Heke's strange stares. Ramsay was rapt and entirely his. If he was only always like this perhaps his Lord and Lady would have better understood.

The first time he heard the story Ramsay had pointed our the longstanding intermingling of House Ryswell and House Bolton, the horse breeder's submission and daughters ensuring their safety. "A Ryswell... Like your mother," he had noted strangely.

"After Daewin knocked Ricter Stark, the eldest of Lord Berthold Stark's sons from his horse, Garret the Gray and Castus defended their brother as flayed the still living boy."

Unsurpringly, this caught Ramsay's interest.

"What did they do to the women?" Ramsay asked, his voice low and husky.

"What men do," Domeric answered vaguely. He was not averse to discussing such matters, but if Ramsay truly wished to be calm enough to sleep, such topics would not do. Ramsay titled his head up slightly, arching his hips back into Domeric's.

"And what do Bolton men do?" Ramsay asked. "I'll never be one myself, but perhaps you could show me."

Domeric felt the blood beginning to flow between his legs as Ramsay continued to grind against him.

"Please. Teach me. I want to know what kind of Lord you'll be," he pleaded.

Domeric smiled. It was safe to in the darkness of his own room. Ramsay was a needy and difficult boy, but atleast his urges could be put to good use.

"Come on, Domeric. You promised me you would," Ramsay continued, finally turning petulant again.

"I agreed to speak of history. I promised you nothing," Domeric teased, tugging slightly at the roots of Ramsay's hair.

Ramsay made a sullen huffing noise is response, before Domeric nudged him onto his stomach, pinning his younger brother underneath his weight. Ramsay could likely have fought him off if he cared to, but Domeric expected no such thing.

"Keep it well paced, and don't abuse yourself before I tell you to. I won't have you spilling yourself before I'm done this time," Domeric ordered, gripping the back of Ramsay's neck.

Ramsay obeyed keeping his thrusts long and evenly timed. As demanding and troublesome as he was, Ramsay was still his brother, and Domeric took joy in their shared interests. Domeric had never expected to actually have a brother and in these moments it was enough to simply have him.

Ramsay's body fit underneath him comfortably, as if it had been made for this. Even with the differences in their build, perhaps because of it, his thighs and arse pieced nicely into his groin, and when he took Ramsay against the walls of the stables his back had flushed perfectly against his chest.

"Lord Daewin Bolton hung Ricter's skin from his shoulders, his brother's each claiming their own skins from one of Lord Stark's bannermen. Garret the Gray slew a Reed and was said to jape the Crannogman's skin was too short to serve as a cape for a man of his size. Castus overpowered Lady Daria Mormont after she cut him in the ribs and flayed her corpse after stabbing her in the eye."

Domeric recited it deliberately, letting his pace guide his and Ramsay's rutting. Ramsay's breath had already quickened underneath him, and the flush of Domeric's arousal had spread to his thighs and stomach as well, still able to feel the cleft of his brothers arse through the rough layers of their clothes.

"Though they were forced out of the castle by Brynden and Berthold Stark, it was not before Daewin had raped and killed his eldest daughter, while still wearing her brother's skin. Castus, already injured was slain by the poison darts of a Crannogman and Garret the Gray beheaded the maester they had brought for failing to save his brother."

Ramsay let out a low breathy moan.

"What is it now, brother?" Domeric asked. "Is this not to your liking?"

Ramsay shook his head. He had done well, still keeping measured, despite the twitches Domeric had felt in his thighs.

"What do you think she looked like? The Stark bitch," Ramsay asked.

Domeric placed a gentle kiss on the back of Ramsay's neck, mussing the hair on the back of his head. He liked the sweet but musky way his little brother smelled for him.

"Like a Stark. Dark Hair. Pale Skin. Gray eyes," he answered, now pulling  a bit harder on Ramsay's hair. Domeric's cock twitched as his brother let out a frustrated groan.

"Stop teasing," Ramsay panted.

"Does my little brother want his reward for listening well?" Domeric continued.

Ramsay's hips bucked out of rhythm at the offer.

"Yes. I want your cock in mouth," Ramsay begged.

"You weren't that well behaved," Domeric japed, beginning to lower Ramsay's pants.

"Why won't you just fuck me already?" Ramsay complained.

"Because you have no restraint, and keep whining like you're entitled to such things."

Ramsay went quiet at that and ceased moving as Domeric stripped him, except to give his brother access to him. Domeric undressed hm efficiently, not stopping to grope or sample his brother's inviting skin. Their father would have approved, he thought. His eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, and he could see the hints of Ramsay's body, as he sat back to admire it for a moment.

He was spread legged and face down in the bed, and though he could not see the exact detail of Ramsay's musculature he rememebered the way it felt precisely. He would always remember that. His arms were placed over his head, and his dark hair obfuscated his face.

Ramsay looked back over his shoulder as Domeric stripped. His development was leaner than Ramsay's, resembling their father's build. Riding and sword play had made him thicker than their father though. Ramsay had felt the need to comment on that on several occasions, making insinuations as to the nature of this difference.

Ramsay wet his lips and swayed his hips slightly as Domeric watched him, remaining silent aside from the sound of his breath.

"That's better. Now get on your hands and knees," Domeric said quietly. Ramsay obliged, rising to the knelt position as his brother ordered.

Domeric reached for the clove oils he had used earlier bathing Ramsay, nearly falling off the bed. Ramsay let out a muffled laugh and Domeric gave him an affectionate but firm tap where his thigh and the cup of his bottom met. Ramsay whimpered slightly at the slap, more from arousal than pain.

Domeric slicked his length with his left hand as he moved to his knees. He ran his right hand along Ramsay's waist, stopping at his hip to squeeze him affectionately.

Ramsay felt tight as he entered him and a small guttural noise fell from his lips, but with the oil and his left hand coming to wrap around the base of his brothers cock he slid himself inside with greater ease.

Ramsay's grasp around the sheets tightened and a high pitched but hushed groan began as Domeric's hips initially rocked against his.

"Bite into the sheets. You know we can't let anyone hear us," Domeric whispered. The only times he could let Ramsay so freely express himself were their couplings in the woods, far from ears and eyes that might otherwise return to their father.

"I'm sorry. I just---"

Domeric cupped his hand over Ramsay's mouth instead. His brother's breath was hot on his hand, and Ramsay's tongue darted playfully against his fingers.

Domeric clenched his teeth and exhaled through his teeth, trying not to take his pleasure too loudly. Ramsay flexed the muscles that encircled him, making the throbs of pleasure he felt jolt from the base of his cock to the pit of his stomach. His throat tightened as he held in the long gasps and moans the feel of his brother incited.

Ramsay meanwhile continued to breathe heavily and whine into Domeric's fingers as he writhed with Domeric's motions. As Ramsay grew close to his own climax the twitches in his body spread and his head thrashed in Domeric's grip.

Ramsay tended to come faster. Their father would have attributed to his bastard's blood. This would fade with both the leechings and training though.

Ramsay climaxed soon after, pressing his hips tightly into Domeric's, taking his older brother as deep as he could manage before kissing the tips of his fingers. Domeric continued to rut inside him as his labored breaths resided and his head sunk towards the bed.

Domeric scooped his arms around him, helping Ramsay support his own weight. The heat of is orgasm coiled through his toes and made his fingers dig into Ramsay's skin, leaving small indents where his nails dug in.

On finishing, Domeric lowered Ramsay down and fixed the bed so they were both covered. Satisfied, he returned to holding his brother in his arms.

"You did very well," he whispered. His body still pulsed and tingled, and every point of contact between them felt soft. Ramsay yawned lazily in response.

"I think I'll be able to sleep now," he murmured happily. Domeric chuckled to himself.

"You'll have to be leeched and cleaned tomorrow morning," Domeric reminded him, closing his eyes.

"I know, I know. Gods, you sound just like father," Ramsay replied.

Domeric smiled at that. He supposed he did.


End file.
